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Mumadar Ibn Huzal
Master of Realmslore
1338 Posts |
 Posted - 22 Feb 2003 : 14:47:12
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Still sitting in her couch Ditalidas tries to keep an eye on everything that’s going on. She shifts frustrated on her chair when after Nik also Marc crosses the street, when she turns her attention back from Marc and Emlyn she notices Friend’s odd behavior. She narrows her eyes and scans the surroundings to see what could have caused this behavior. Nothing much is visible in the persistent mist hanging in the streets of Berdusk, the fog allows just enough sight to view the warehouse and Dita’s friends in front of it. As her eyes pass the open doors of the warehouse, she catches a glimpse of movement. However in the shady interior of the warehouse it is not easy to make out any details… Ditalidas shifts uneasy on her seat. She shakes her head and mumbles to herself: “This has taken long enough… This was not the best of ideas I could have had.” She shifts towards the door – the one not looking out on the large green doors. Opening the door of the carriage, she steps onto the street and whistles softly to attract Marc’s and Emlyn’s attention. When she has their attention she motions them to meet her at the coach.
Marc’s eyebrows rise in relief as he sees the lady descend from the vehicle. He slows down his pace on the midst of the street to examine her actions. When he sees her beckoning he completes the last few feet to Emlyn’s side of the street, while nodding enthusiastically. He quickly cocks his head to point to his mistress and says “Look, we’re called!” Gladly he continues: “I think the noble lady will provide us with all her insights and answers.” His wide eager look diminishes and he looks at this brave small woman in front of him. A little less assured he contradicts his own words: “Don’t you think she will?” Emlyn jumps to her feet. At Marc’s last comment, she gives a low chuckle. “Well then, let’s see what this almighty oracle of yours has to offer. I guess she’s become a bit impatient as well.” With that the hin-woman walks to the carriage.
The cold mist drifting lazily through the streets of the Jewel of the Vale not only hampers vision, it also distorts sound. The sound of wagon wheels and hooves on the cobbles seemed far off, yet suddenly dark ghostly shapes are visible turning into more solid form as they draw closer. A team of lathered horses pulling a heavy laden wagon escorted by a pair of dour looking bearded guards makes its way between the buildings forcing Ditalidas to step a little closer to the carriage and making Marc, Emlyn and Nik jump aside hastily. Friend, seemingly unperturbed by the horses and wagon, turns about following the wagon for a few paces before cocking her head and rushing back towards Marc.
The young lady Jalarghar brushes a few spatters of dirt from her clothes as she awaits her friends. Her gaze slightly darkened at the small convoy disappearing into the mist again. From atop the carriage Theskul looks a little worried at his mistress. Seeing nothing amiss he dismounts the carriage to soothe the horses which have become a little agitated by the wait and the wagon and horses rumbling by.
The little fey hovers behind the others as they move to cross the street, when the wagon team pushes rudely past, a small protruding tongue and glaring eyes fade into view momentarily before winking out of visibility. Puddy chooses not to break the silence with a caustic remark, and continues on to the carriage to see what the lady has in mind.
Adapting his pace to Emlyn’s Marc walks to the carriage. After he has jumped aside for the passing wagon he waves a fist in the air, whispering agitated: “Careful!” Then he turns to Emlyn, as if to apologize for the behavior of humankind. He frowns “Them bearded bastards!” Then he sighs, shaking his head, “Some people just act like the city is theirs alone. Are you okay?” He turns his head to look at the tall bard behind them, “and you?” There’s amusement and pity in his eyes as he friendly asks, “Just fell out of the frying pan into the fire it seems?” Paying no attention to the cart driver apart from a look of contempt and muttering “The same in any place…” Emlyn walks on. She smiles at the young human’s comments, and keeps a watchful eye on the behavior of the dog.
The near miss with the wagon doesn’t affect the tall bard the way it should seem to. Nik steps out of the way almost absently, hardly even looking at the large vehicle that came so close to hitting him. The gaunt man’s left hand flashes up, seemingly of its own accord, fingers bent in an unmistakably obscene gesture at the back of the wagoneer’s head, but his eyes don’t leave the seemingly empty doorway that has caused so much concern. Nik shakes himself like a wet dog, and gives the dark doorway one more worried look, before sighing resignedly, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching over to Ditalidas’ carriage.
When they reach the highborn lady Marc is undisturbed by the stains on her hunting suit. He reports as he would have done after a nightly orc-hunt in the midst of winter, seemingly ages ago and certainly hundreds of miles away. Shrugging his shoulders he says: “Sorry, ma’am, we waited some time but the man seems to have vanished in the fog or something.” He throws a glance over his shoulder at the warehouse, “There surely *IS* something or someone there though!” As he talks further he pats the halfling on her shoulder, “Emlyn here saw something and Friend was frightened just a moment ago, and believe me, she’s no coward!”
Marc raises his brows briefly. “I don’t know, Ditalidas. What to do I mean.” He moves a foot or two to the right, giving Nik the opportunity to complete the circle. “Emlyn here suggested we should go in and collect the man, but I don’t know…” He looks at each of the gathered friends – the look at Puddy roughly in the right direction. “I don’t mind going in, nor would I mind continuing the ride for your odd-job.” He nods at Ditalidas “Earn those goldies and return to the Twilight Hall.” Sneakily he glances into the alley next to the warehouse. “It just doesn’t feel right…” Marc pauses to think before he adds, “Yes, anyway. Going in or not, but whatever we do, we’d better stick together.” The latter is accompanied by a warm smile towards the tall bard.
Emlyn looks around and sighs. “Marc is right. And I cannot say I’m used to being part of an operation… but I ‘am’ used to jump in when necessary. I have no wish to endanger you three or anyone else for that matter, but if that man ‘is’ a murderer, he ought to be stopped.” She stares at the lady’s noble feet for a while, obviously not used to seeking contact let alone a conflict with someone of higher station. Then she raises her gaze almost defiantly. “And regardless of who disagrees, I’m planning to nick him, one way or the other. Doesn’t mean I’m going to storm the place, there’s always either a way of sneaking in…” She looks around her meaningfully, wherever the small faerie may be “…or good old polite knocking.”
Nik seems in no hurry to return to the carriage, and by the time he reaches it all traces of his earlier terror are gone from his weathered, careworn face. He smiles his old, wry smile as he draws near, but as he hears the end of Emlyn’s comments the smile drains from his face.
Once back within the relative safety of the carriage, Puddy fades into visibility once again, and settles himself upon a curtain rod. After listening to Marc and Emlyn’s update to Ditalidas, Puddy places his chin upon his small fist and looks at the humans quizzically. “Walk in you can! And why not? Look the same, all you large peoples do, only dress differently?” Pointing to Ditalidas, “The merchant can you be, nicely enough your garb wears…” and then to the others, “and guards for her body might you be. Walk inside, look, and ask questions? Do not merchants do this?” The little pixie then pulls out his flute and inspects it to make sure the damp has not tarnished it.
Leaning against the side of the carriage with the lazy, casual arrogance he has shown briefly in the Running Stag, Nik faces Marc, Emlyn and Ditalidas. The faint, ironic smile returns to his lips, but there is a flicker of fear in his eyes again. “I think we lack both the skills and the resources to catch this murderer at this moment.” Nik says softly. Holding up a hand to forestall any comments he continues, still in that same hushed voice as if he fears being overheard, “I have not willingly put myself into danger for a very long time, yet just now I went to stand watch for a murderer in a dark alley. Waiting for a man whose face I do not know, whose associations I can not fathom, whose motives I can not even begin to guess. I have no doubts that you are all good at what you do. But I KNOW I am NOT good at what I have just attempted, and I am also aware that our adversary has the upper hand at this moment. We are on his turf, my friends. Playing by his rules. We know that he has some connection with this warehouse. That is something. But he certainly knows we are here by now, and I am quite sure we did not fool him for an instant with our little ruse. Let us go about our business, and come back when we are better prepared, and rather less obvious.” He taps his bony knuckles on the carriage to indicate what he thinks was their biggest give-away.
Then Nik abruptly climbs into the carriage without waiting for a response to his speech. Ditalidas listens to the advices and opinions of her friends, giving a nod now and then or shaking her head. She looks irritated as Nik climbs in the carriage without waiting for the replies of the others. In the silence after the bard’s words, suddenly sounds which resemble high-pitched screams drift through the mist from close by. They seem almost to come from below the street…
The bard had just sat down when the screams startle him back into motion. Nik leaps to his feet, forgetting for a vital moment that no carriage has enough headroom for such a tall man to stand upright. His head hits the ceiling with a dull thud and he sits back down, holding his head and cursing loudly and colorfully. He shoots Puddy a glare and mutters angrily “I should have just stayed in Nashkel. Things just keep getting worse all the time…” Getting to his feet with much more care, Nik leans out the door of the carriage and gives the others the same annoyed glare. Rubbing the top of his head with one hand and hanging on to the carriage doorframe with the other, he asks peevishly “NOW what is going on?” His eyes reveal the fear that fuels his anger, though, as they dart back towards the warehouse.
Ditalidas opens her mouth to say something when she hears the sound. She cocks her head listening and slowly closes her mouth. Then she points out at the sewer grating. “It’s coming from there.” She walks up to the grate and kneels beside it. “Let’s lift it.” She looks up at Marc and Emlyn for help. Tiny wrinkles are on the lad’s forehead when the young peasant looks at the grating where this sound emerged. “What’s?” He utters concerned. He squeezes one eye. “There’s something wrong down there!” He says on a more adult tone. As Ditalidas walks up to that spot he hesitates for a heartbeat before he slowly, wavering, follows her a few paces. When his dark brown eyes see her kneeling he nods. He quickens his pace and kneels too. He pauses for two breaths to look and listen what goes on beneath the large lid. Splashing sounds echo through the darkness below, as if creatures are running through the sewage. In the dim light below Marc sees the faint glow of light reflecting on the liquid surface. Just as he is about to straighten, a couple of smallish dark shapes move past the opening some twenty feet below.
After a quick glance over his shoulder at Emlyn he nods at Ditalidas and calmly says, “Okay” Bending over, the young man grabs the grating. “On your count…” He says, preparing to pull the grating with force. Concentrated on Ditalidas’s face he waits for her initiative. With a glance at Marc’s new sword, Emlyn walks over to the grate and positions herself so that if troubles decide to rise up, she is its target rather than the unprotected lady Ditalidas. While the halfling’s sharp brown eyes peer into the lower levels, her hand wanders from the small wooden figure around her neck to Ilmater’s symbol, still in her pocket. Her sharp ears pick up the sound of a number of creatures hurrying through the sewage below. By the sound of it, the splashes are receding away rapidly from the vantage point she’s in. The only visible clue to something being down in the sewers is the faint glow of torchlight reflecting off the surface of the sewage some twenty feet lower.
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Ditalidas
Learned Scribe
Netherlands
127 Posts |
Posted - 22 Feb 2003 : 15:30:48
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To give you guys a bit more additional information:
While on our way to deliver a message for somebody at Twilight Hall we spotted the friend of somebody we suspected for murder entering a warehouse. We decided to wait for this man to come out again, ask him some question, or even take him to a place where we could get some more information out of this man. It was Dita’s idea, but she regretted sharing it with the party at the moment she was done telling her plan, realizing it was not a very good one and hearing how stupid it sounded when she said it out loud. But since Marc immediately agreed on the plan and slipped out the coach to set a stake out, the plan was followed through. The rest followed soon after Marc and left the coach too. Leaving Ditalidas alone with her thoughts and doubts that made her very nervous.
After that there was some waiting and.... read the story above 
(I hope I remembered correctly  )
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'All that is' is also 'All that is not' for the one cannot exist without the other.
Sweet Water and Light Laughter |
Edited by - Ditalidas on 22 Feb 2003 15:33:07 |
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Frey
Learned Scribe
130 Posts |
Posted - 23 Feb 2003 : 09:14:02
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Don't I just love this Marc!
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- Imagine ... there's no imagination. -
(remember Frey is just a PC) |
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Twilight Dawn: The Long Wait
